


The Play's the Thing

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, First Time, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 13:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Eliot and Quentin have married, but Eliot finds himself dealing with Quentin’s anxiety and fear over the consummation. A visiting King Idri has a plan.





	The Play's the Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Quite a few people have asked for a sequel to King Me, (http://archiveofourown.org/works/10766397) so here it is! Queldriot (yes, I named it,) for all! I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

The Play’s the Thing

By Lexalicious70 (The ChampagneKing70)

 

“Well! Someone doesn’t look like a very happy monarch.”

 

Eliot looked up and then rose from his throne as Idri entered with two of his men at arms.

 

“Idri. I wasn’t expecting you.” Eliot glanced down at his outfit—tailored trousers and a loose-fitting white silk shirt and cranberry silk scarf—and brushed his big hands over the shirt as if to smooth away any errant wrinkles. “I would have set out some refreshments—would you like some wine?”

 

The dark-skinned king of Loria smiled as he approached the throne and offered his hands. Eliot took them, smiling, and Idri nodded.

 

“There’s your smile.” He stepped forward and kissed Eliot’s lips gently. “We’ll worry about wine later, after you tell me what has you looking so unhappy.” He dismissed his men at arms with a nod and they went to stand at the entrance of the throne room.

 

“Oh. It’s nothing, really, Idri.”

 

“When I left here one moon ago to make a trip to the Outer Islands, you and Quentin were newlyweds. It was such a lovely wedding, too! And you were so happy. What’s happened? Are you now displeased with your choice of husband?”

 

“No! Not at all . . . I love Quentin. And our union makes sense, since we’re both kings. It’s just—” Eliot paused. “Can we talk about this in my common room?” He lowered his voice. “I feel like all the servants are listening.”

 

“Of course.” Idri nodded. “Lead the way.”

 

Eliot headed out of the massive throne room and down a hallway, where he climbed a set of stone steps. At the top of the landing was his common room, which featured a roomy couch, a desk, a large table with a lacquered map of Fillory inlaid into its surface, and several tapestries that featured Fillory’s magical beasts doing battle with the forces of evil. A painting of Eliot himself hung in the opposite corner.

 

“Please, sit.” Eliot gestured to the couch and went over to the gilded whiskey service cart that always occupied one corner. He poured them each a tumbler. Idri slipped off his outer jacket and set it to one side as Eliot brought him the glass.

 

“Eliot. Know that you can be honest with me. Please, tell me what’s troubling you about your marriage to Quentin?” Idri asked, and Eliot sat down with his own glass and adjusted his crown, as if it felt heavier than usual in that moment.

 

“We’ve been married a month. Everything’s going well, at least on the business end of things. We’ve managed to create a few new policies for Fillory that might even help fix the broken infrastructure. We get along, we take walks and horseback ride together, we eat our meals together, along with Margo.”

 

“But?” Idri prompted, and Eliot took a long pull on his glass.

 

“It’s—the bedroom.”

 

“I seem to recall the three of us had quite a bit of fun in that respect last time I visited. Have you not been with each other since then?”

 

“We’ve . . . been intimate, yes. But Quentin won’t—he won’t allow me to make love to him. What the kids used to call ‘going all the way.’”

 

“So he fears penetration.”

 

“That’s another way to put it, yes. I don’t know if he’s afraid of the pain or of disappointing me—not that he could—but for whatever reason, he’s found a dozen excuses to put me off. My repeated attempts to seduce him have fizzled—failed—” Eliot added, seeing confusion flit across Idri’s features. “And I’m loathe to admit it, but I’m out of ideas.” The young magician sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing my touch.”

 

“Oh . . . I don’t think your touch is the problem at all, My Treasure.” Idri reached out and took Eliot’s hands in his own, the dark fingers stroking over the backs. Eliot could feel the natural magic they exuded, like tiny, glittering sparks on his human skin.

 

“Then what is?” Eliot asked, trying not to get distracted by the gentle, rhythmic stroking.

 

“Perhaps what King Quentin needs is to get out of his headspace and into another. Only then can he let his anxiety go.” The Lorian king smiled.

“And how do we accomplish that?” Eliot asked.

 

“Trust me, Eliot. There is more than one path to pleasure. Meet me in your bedchambers this evening after supper, and bring Quentin with you.” Idri’s smile widened. “We’ll play a game.”

 

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

To Eliot’s surprise, Idri didn’t join him or the other monarchs for supper. He, Margo and Quentin ate their evening meal as usual, set out by Tick and their other servants. When Eliot mentioned that Idri was at Whitespire, Margo smiled into her goblet of wine and casually mentioned that she would be indisposed with a hot bath (and a pile of high-quality erotic books she’d discovered in a Manhattan used book shop the last time she’d been to earth,) and that the boys would have to entertain their guest. Once the servants returned to clear the dishes after the final course, Margo kissed both Eliot and Quentin before leaving the table.

 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She said with a wink as she strolled toward her private bathroom, and Eliot took Quentin’s hand.

 

“Come along Q, let’s not keep King Idri waiting.”

 

Quentin slipped his fingers in between Eliot’s as they walked toward the bedchamber.

 

“Maybe we can talk about how to deal with that wild talking horse herd in the south meadow, or whether to increase the . . . uhhhhm . . .?” Quentin’s words trailed off as Eliot pushed open the heavy door to the bedchamber to reveal Idri sitting in an ornate chair in front of the bed. The roomy bed itself was made and two identical outfits were laid out there. The garments resembled short togas and included matching slipper sandals embellished with tiny golden chimes. Idri himself wore nothing but a gold and magenta silk robe with an ornate tie. He held a goblet of wine in his right hand.

 

“Welcome.” He nodded to the magicians, and Quentin glanced around.

 

“Hi, Idri. It’s good to see you again. Uh—what’s all this?” Quentin asked, and Idri got to his feet. He was several inches taller than Quentin and used this advantage to back him up against the door. One dark hand reached out and locked the heavy bolt.

 

“I’m invoking a Lorian custom. Where I come from, the guest chooses the entertainment for the evening. I choose role reversal.” He nodded to the outfits. “I wish for the kings of Fillory to shed their crowns and attend me as servants.”

 

“You mean, we’d have to do whatever you say?” Quentin asked, and Idri nodded. “And wear those outfits. Have no fear, Quentin, I won’t take advantage of you.”

 

“No! I know, it’s not that. I’ve just never. Uhm. Played this game before?”

 

“Don’t worry, Quentin. I’m sure Eliot can guide you.” Idri smiled as he sat back down. “Now . . . the outfits, if you please.”

 

Quentin picked up one of the outfits. It was a shimmering seafoam color, while Eliot’s was blend of different shades of purple. They changed out of their royal robes: Eliot casually, Quentin with hesitation. He slipped on the sandals and looked up at Eliot, who smiled down at him. The garments barely covered their thighs, and Quentin felt his cheeks flush as Idri motioned them forward from his chair.

 

“Let your king look at you.” He smiled. “My my . . . what lovely servants I’ve retained for the evening. Kneel down.”

 

Eliot obeyed immediately, tugging Quentin down with him. Quentin hit his knees, grateful for the room’s thick oriental-style rug. Idri reached out, his dark hands carding through Quentin’s fine hair and through Eliot’s thick dark curls at the same time.

 

“This game is a simple one. Obedience will be rewarded with pleasure. Disobedience earns you displeasure and will end the game. Also, your guest shall be very offended. Do you both understand?”

 

“Yes, your majesty.” Eliot replied, his gaze on the floor, and Quentin followed his lead.

 

“Uhm. Yes, your majesty.”

 

“Excellent! Now . . . my goblet is empty. Fill it for your king.” He commanded, but gently, and Eliot nudged Quentin, a silent cue to get to his feet. Eliot went to the decanter as Idri handed his goblet to Quentin. Eliot filled it and shook his head at Quentin as he started to speak. Quentin snapped his mouth shut, his dark eyes reflecting frustration, and Eliot touched his face in a soothing gesture before giving him another nudge. Quentin took the wine to Idri, averting his gaze, and Idri accepted it.

 

“Such obedience and respect! I believe my servants will earn quite a reward tonight.” He sipped the wine as Eliot clasped his hands in front of him but kept his posture erect. Quentin wondered just how they would be rewarded, and Idri spoke as if he’d read his mind. “I am a man of my word, sweet Quentin. I won’t take advantage of you within the confines of this exercise . . . and I believe you’d rather your pleasure came from another source.” Idri snapped his fingers at Eliot, who approached the throne. The Lorian king pinned him with his imperial gaze.

 

“Kiss your fellow servant.” He said, and Eliot turned to Quentin, bending his head slightly to kiss his lips. Quentin sighed against his mouth—he loved being kissed by Eliot, and the fact that Idri had ordered it made it seem all the more arousing. After a moment, Idri raised a hand. “Enough!”

 

Eliot drew away, his lips slick, his amber eyes bright. Idri smiled.

“Excellent. Now you have the idea.” He sipped his wine. “Let us continue.”

 

 

An hour passed, then two. Idri commanded his servants firmly but with a gentle, playful quality and granted them both rewards that had them both in a state of perpetual arousal. With each task, (washing and peeling apples for Idri to snack on, performing magic tricks for his amusement and singing a popular earth song which, to Quentin’s amazement, Eliot took on with a killer rendition of “My Heart Will Go On,”) Idri had them reward each other with kisses and touches that left them both breathless. The game was clearly affecting the Lorian king as well—his robe showed damp patches below the fancy corded tie and his gaze was heated each time he watched Eliot trace his fingers over Quentin’s cock through the silky toga or when Quentin teased Eliot’s nipples with feather-light touches.

 

“You’ve both done very well,” Idri said as they poured him more wine. “Go to the bed, both of you.”

 

Eliot took Quentin’s hand and tugged him down onto the feather bed, their sandals chiming merrily as they both pulled their feet off the floor. Idri followed but made no move to join them; he stood next to the bed instead, watching.

 

“Undress each other.” He commanded, and Eliot tugged off Quentin’s short robe and removed his sandals with gentle consideration before allowing Quentin to disrobe him. Quentin reflected, as he always did when he saw Eliot naked, that his feet were just as big and weirdly elegant as his hands. They knelt on the bed, face to face, and Idri stroked Quentin’s hair. The touch sent goosebumps along his upper spine and outward to his already-aroused nerves.

 

“Oh.” He sighed, and Idri smiled.

 

“I think you’re going to like this reward very much, sweet Quentin.” He leaned over and whispered in Eliot’s ear, and Eliot grinned. Idri patted Quentin’s bare ass. “Get on all fours.”

 

Quentin obeyed, several hours of being in a submissive headspace blocking out his necessity to question. Eliot knee-walked around him, and King Idri slipped a gentle hand under Quentin’s chin to look him in the eye. The mattress shifted slightly, and then Quentin’s eyes widened as Eliot’s big hands spread his asscheeks and something warm and wet—his husband’s tongue—slipped between them. Quentin’s mouth dropped open in a shocked gasp, and Idri continued to hold his chin.

 

“Eyes on me, sweet Quentin. Eyes on your king . . . yes, that’s good . . . let yourself feel it . . . allow nothing in but that pleasure and my command.” He stroked a long thumb along Quentin’s jawline as Eliot rimmed him, and after a few minutes, Quentin’s hips were rocking, his erection dripping onto the duvet with nearly every other beat of his heart. His lips began to move soundlessly and his tongue wet them repeatedly as the slick sounds of Eliot’s ministrations filled the bedchamber. Idri watched Quentin’s expression, knowing that those soundless movements of his lips meant that he was aching to be filled. Idri stroked his cheek again. “One last command, my pretty servant. Tell me what you desire. Tell me now!”

 

“I want—it—I want Eliot . . .oh God Eliot please, fuck me!” Quentin cried, and Idri smiled as Eliot reared up onto his knees and put his hands on Quentin’s hips. Quentin made a needy mewling sound and sucked Idri’s thumb into his mouth. The older man started in momentary surprise but then allowed it as Eliot used the slick from his own cock to stretch Quentin first with two fingers, then three, before pulling back and pressing forward into Quentin’s tight heat. The snugness of the space made Eliot’s cock jerk and he squeezed the base firmly a moment, delaying his orgasm. Idri unbelted his robe and allowed to fall open, and Quentin glanced down at the Lorian king’s sizeable hardon as he began to stroke himself. There was pressure building in the lower half of Quentin’s body as Eliot filled him, then discomfort, which he blocked out by concentrating on the movement of Idri’s hand, and then Eliot rocked his hips upward and in, causing such an agonizing burst of white-hot pleasure that Quentin pulled off Idri’s thumb to cry out. With that hand now free, Idri shook the robe free the rest of the way and wrapped his hand around Quentin’s cock, stroking it in time with his own as Eliot rode the smaller magician, his lean hips working steadily.

 

“God Q . . . so fucking tight . . . you feel so good . . . love you so much, Quentin . . .” Eliot whispered, his long fingers kneading the flesh around Quentin’s hips. He could feel the tension building in both their bodies and knew the humming, invisible thread of their joining was about to snap with a mind-blowing orgasm.

 

“El . . .” Quentin’s frame tightened and a sex flush painted his neck and chest. He stared up at Idri as the smiling king jacked his cock without letup. “I’m gonna—oh . . . ohh— _fuck_!” He shouted as Eliot pulled him backward and drove forward at the same time, holding him there, pressing against his prostate until Quentin’s eyes rolled. His cock jetted hard in Idri’s hand and the Lorian ruler gasped and groaned as the sight and scent triggered his own orgasm. It was a powerful climax and the first few jets spattered against Quentin’s chin before Idri managed to aim it up onto his own belly. Eliot’s hips snapped forward sharply and then he was shuddering hard, hanging onto Quentin as he came, his eyes closed, his expression a mix of ecstasy and lust. After Eliot was spent he carefully pulled away and helped Quentin lie down on his side, understanding the importance of aftercare in this circumstance—something he hadn’t received during his own brief and dubiously consensual first time but was now determined to offer to his husband.

 

“Easy, Quentin. Shhh . . . there . . .” He stroked Quentin’s sweat-damp hair. “Just let yourself drift, you’re safe.” Eliot floated a pack of wet wipes in from the cabinet in the corner, one of the few earth conveniences he still insisted upon and which Penny grudgingly brought him, and used them to clean Quentin up before handing them to Idri, who regarded them curiously before using them.

 

“The game is ended.” Idri smiled as he picked up his robe and shrugged it back on. “I trust you both enjoyed it?” He asked as Eliot laid down next to Quentin and made him the little spoon before tugging the coverlet up over their waists. Eliot grinned at his friend and nodded, and Quentin sighed, a blissed-out smile on his face.

 

“King Idri?”

 

“Yes, King Quentin?”

 

The young magician closed his eyes as the secure weight of Eliot’s long arm draped over his waist wiped away everything but their connection.

 

“I’m pretty sure I won.”

 

FIN

 


End file.
